


Tinderbox

by OnAStallion, wobblyheadeddollcaper



Series: There Must Be 50 Ways To Please Your Lover [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Compliant, Derogatory Language, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, sex worker roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnAStallion/pseuds/OnAStallion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobblyheadeddollcaper/pseuds/wobblyheadeddollcaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. “Is your affection negotiable, then? You seemed like such a nice Southern boy,” Hamilton says lazily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tinderbox

“Roll over, Laurens.” Hamilton says sleepily.

“What?”

“This bed is too small for you to sprawl out like that. I’m falling off the edge.”

“You ask that remarkably casually, Hamilton. Have you told many men to roll over for you?”

Hamilton raises his head from their pillow in order to give Laurens an incredulous look.

“John, I just spent half an hour sucking your cock. Coy doesn’t suit you.”

“What do I get for rolling over?”

“Is your affection negotiable, then? You seemed like such a nice Southern boy,” Hamilton says lazily.

“What. Do I. Get.” Laurens’ voice is smouldering like the lit end of a fuse. Hamilton wakes up all the way, fast.

“Seven shillings.”

“It’s not much.”

“It’s all I have on me. I’m fighting for our country, give me a patriotic discount.”

“Fine.” Some rustling occurs as Laurens turns over, dragging the bedsheet with him and revealing his buttocks. Hamilton strokes a hand lazily up the back of John’s thigh.

“You’re not paying enough for cuddling,” Laurens says, and Hamilton smacks him lightly, a love-tap. Laurens gasps and buries his face in the pillow.

“That wasn’t too hard…?” Hamilton starts, concerned, and Laurens raises his head from the pillow and hisses:

“Again.”

Hamilton fits his palm against the curve of Laurens’ ass and hits him again, harder. The smack is loud in the quiet bedroom. Laurens grinds his hips down against the mattress.

“That what you wanted?”

“Don’t tease me, you bas-.” Laurens shuts his mouth, cutting off the word. Hamilton grips convulsively at Laurens’ thigh, as if pushed off balance.

“Really,” he says, no inflection in his voice. Laurens twists to look at him, freeing one hand from under the pillow to reach back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

Hamilton hits him again.

“We can play that game if you want, Laurens,” he says lightly. “A little warning would be polite.”

“I’m,” Laurens says, choked, then clears his throat. “I’m… wait, Alex, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, John,” Hamilton says, and his voice sounds more natural. “Call me that again, though, and I’ll have to take it out of your hide.”

“Take anything you want,” Laurens says, and lets his legs splay open. He keeps his face down, so Hamilton can see only the vulnerable nape of his neck.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Hamilton says, and gets out the tin of grease he uses on his saddle leathers.

“Anything except that,” Laurens says.

“You’ll be my whore for the night, then?”

“Yes.” Laurens appears to have used up his store of coquetry for the night. “Yes, I’m yours.”

Hamilton sucks in a sharp breath. The air seems to have become incendiary around them. He presses one slicked-up finger into Laurens’ ass, going slowly.

“How’s that?”

“Have you started?” Laurens says, strained. “I didn’t notice.”

Hamilton hits him again, and Laurens shudders, letting out a bitten-off moan.

“If you’re a whore you should moan like one. Let me hear you, come on.” He adds a second finger, not gently, and Laurens swears into the pillow, his voice low and ragged. He pushes his hips against the mattress again. Hamilton wraps his free hand around Laurens’ hipbone, tugging him up.

“Get up, up on your knees.” Laurens scrambles to get his knees under him, made clumsy by lust. There’s a fine tremor already starting in the muscle of his left thigh. Hamilton nudges his legs wider, keeping his fingers in Laurens like he’s marking a page in a book that he means to return to.

“You know, you take this like you were born to it,” Hamilton says. “You make a lovely whore. I should, should keep you to myself.”

“Your whore,” Laurens says, low. “You treat all your whores like this?”

“Just you. Say it again.”

“Your whore, ‘m your – Christ, Hamilton, fuck me, take me, please.”

Hamilton slicks his cock with one shaking hand and thrusts into Laurens. Laurens pushes back, eager. Hamilton leans forward and tangles his fingers into the snarl of Laurens’ hair, trying to pull him closer.

“Is that enough for you?”

“Harder,” Laurens gasps. Hamilton’s next thrust pushes his face into the pillow, muffling his moans.

“You – asked – for – this-“ Hamilton says, breathing hard.

“Let me, can I touch-“

“Christ, yes-“

“Alex-“ Laurens comes in one long pulse, his ass clenching tight around Hamilton’s cock. Hamilton doesn’t last long afterwards, with Laurens pliant and punch-drunk underneath him.

“You.” Hamilton says, pressing his face into Laurens’ back. “You are a powder-keg.”

“Then you are a tinderbox.” Laurens grips his hand, hard.

“A dangerous couple of men we make,” Alexander says, smiling at the ceiling. “Come on, sleep.”

*

The next day, Alexander wanders over to Laurens’ desk and drops seven shillings onto the letter Laurens is writing.

“For the card game, last night,” Alexander says.

Laurens blushes. Alexander looks startled, then delighted. He forebears to comment, but Laurens gets an unsigned note later on a spare twist of paper:

_A very pretty colour, but surely it’s a little late to blush now._


End file.
